Galaxy's End: Book One

by LeRoy Clary

  “That makes sense. But there’s more you’re going to tell me. I can see it in your smile.”

  She nodded and leaned closer. “My father owned one of the thousands of traders in the human sphere that hop from planet to planet. One day he came across a ship for sale in a boneyard—that’s a place where old ships go to die or be sold cheap. He found the Guardia, although that was several names ago.”

  “I thought he already had a ship.”

  “He did. That’s where weight, mass, economy, and roominess come into play. The ship he stumbled on was due to be scrapped because nobody wanted it. It was three times the size of ships that traders use, too small for use as a transport like the one we’re on, and there it sat for years because nobody saw the value in it or a use for it. Too small for many operations, not large enough for others. The Guardia spent almost a decade in orbit around a moon for a dealer that bought and sold old ships.”

  “Your father bought it?”

  “Yes. Traded for it. He was a good trader. He convinced the dealer that he could sell my father’s old ship easily, and for more money, which was true. My father offered more than the scrap prices that had been offered for the Guardia. So, my father got the ship. Back then it was called the William Bisset, the name of a war hero I’d never heard of, and he got a few credits deposited in his account for the deal.”

  I waited for more. She settled back and poured the rest of my wine into her glass because hers was empty. She was waiting for me to either figure it out or ask her. It was a test.

  I was failing it. Her father had traded a perfectly good small ship for one nobody wanted, and she felt good about it. Twice, she’d mentioned weight and mass, which seemed the same thing to me. However, the double mention was a clue, intentional or not.

  I gave in. “The answer had to do with how much it weighs, right?”

  She smiled again. “Sort of. An exceptionally good guess. Remember I said most traders, the newer ones anyhow, have S6 engines? Reliable, powerful, and fuel-efficient?”

  I nodded, still trying to reach the answer before she revealed it.

  She said, “The ship he bought had been constructed as a troop transport for a war that never took place. It was built for the military of a small planet and had an S7 engine instead of an S6, which is a little larger and slightly more powerful but uses the same amount of fuel.”

  She was not going to trick me that easily. I’d been listening. “You said the ship was three times as big as traders. What about that? Weight and mass and all that.”

  Her grin turned to a chuckle.

  I’d missed something important.

  She said, “Use your mind and try to follow me. The ship is three times as big, so nobody wanted it. Too big for a trader and too small for a transport vessel. But what’s it internally filled with? Not engines, or equipment. It’s mostly air. Empty space that weighs nothing. It was intended to be used as a troop carrier, taking an army from one planet to another.”

  I still didn’t get it.

  She sighed. “Imagine a ship built with no frills to move an army. The entirety of deck three is an open space where sixty or eighty soldiers were to be housed temporally while sleeping on movable cots. Yes, there is a community bathroom, but all that weighs almost nothing. No mass to speak of. Remove the cots and you have a cargo area almost as large that on a standard trade ship, and a bathroom you can share with all your friends.”

  I shrugged and ignored her silly smile. Words wouldn’t help. I had no idea what she was trying to get me to understand.

  She went on, “Decks five and six are the same as deck three. Nothing on them. Not even bulkheads or walls. Deck four had been configured to have meeting rooms, the auto kitchen for pre-cooked foods for the troops, and flimsy chairs and tables where the troops were to eat. We ripped out most of it for even more storage room.”

  “Again, no weight unless occupied,” I almost shouted. I’d finally managed to understand. “So, it’s three or four times the size of a regular trader but weighs about the same, and the engine is more powerful and cheaper to run.”

  “Now, you’re getting it. Don’t go telling spacers about our secret because there are a few wrinkles we haven’t discussed, but you have the basic idea. My father bought a large, empty container with an engine that only had a few hundred hours on it and should be good for tens of thousands.”

  “The ship must have sat idle from the beginning.”

  “The war was over as the ship was completed. The planet that built it parked the ship in orbit and eventually sold it for scrap to the dealer where my father found it. After all, who but another planet planning a war wants a small troop-carrier?”

  I laughed with her.

  She took a healthy swig of wine before refilling the glass. “So, I inherited a ship that carries five or six times the volume of smaller traders, for the same cost to operate. We can compete with others on small loads, but we can also carry large ones if they are not too heavy. You might be surprised at how many items are bulky in size and are not all that heavy.”

  Inherited was the operative word that stuck in my mind. Just that. It told me a lot that didn’t need additional explanation. Not at this point. I finished my wine and waited.

  She said, “You’ll be glad to hear that we’ve turned deck two, the one nearest to the bridge, into crew quarters like no other ship, simply because we have the available space. The other decks have been modified to handle cargo. Walls removed, large access ramps, secure tie-downs, and more. Deck one is the control bridge, the center for all electronics, data, and a few surprises.”

  “It sounds nice.” Information is a two-way street. She’d shared. Next, she would want to know about me. That was not part of my empathic talent, but human nature. She might be a trader, but I was a street-rat and recognized the game we played.

  She didn’t disappoint as she said, “I get the feeling your name recently changed?”

  “To Kat. Yes, it was Kath, and before that it had a Y or IE on the end, depending on how I felt. Recently, I saw a cat near the spaceport, an orange one. It was sort of like you and me. Small, quick, and deadly.” There, I’d shared a little with her, and I wanted to know more about her. “Why were the Colosseum Cops after you?”

  “Clever girl. Give me a tidbit of information and then deflect a little and target me again. Nicely done. They were after me and my crew because they were stupid. They left a barn door open for anyone to grab a bundle of credits. They let the odds of battles in the arena shift too much by the betting and they tried to correct those odds by offering better ones for wagering on the obvious loser. Manipulating odds means others might also—or take advantage of them as we did. My crew placed hundreds of wagers, some pretty steep, at odds almost as high as you did.”

  “They always win. The gambling syndicate, I mean.”

  She shook her head. “Not this time. They allowed me to go up against the Hoot. I provided a background that told the game masters that I was the Hoot’s equal, but when we were warming up and the crowd got a look at my clumsiness, my lack of size, and how poorly I handled that great sword I could barely lift, the betting grew lopsided against me.”

  “You were a better fighter than the Hoot?”

  She settled back and slowly nodded her head. “I’ve had almost as much training as the Hoot. My father insisted on that. He had size and strength on his side. I had speed. My speed prevented him from putting his strength to use, although I admit that without your help, the bout would have lasted far longer.”

  “The syndicate manipulated the odds, and you took advantage of that. They were as guilty as you when you think of it logically. They wanted the odds to remain even, so they made their cut no matter who won.”

  “Exactly.”

  “If you had lost?”

  “The ship, my ship, would have survived. A funeral wake held in my honor would have been held aboard if I died. But I didn’t intend to lose, and it was not a battle to the death. A referee was t
here to call the winner. Your suggestion to get behind the Hoot was a good one. I’d intended to go low, and fast, striking at his feet instead of attacking his body. He wore no armor on his feet and the sword I used was sharp enough to slice through his boots easily. Before you say it, I know he wore sandals, which was even better from my perspective, but in his last two fights, he wore boots.”

  I held my tongue.

  She went on, “I have extensive training with several weapons, which the games-masters recognized, but a light sword is my favorite. I thought I could cut his feet and slow him if I kept my distance.”

  “If you had lost? Not counting the wake your crew would hold on your ship?”

  “It was not a death-match, as I said. It was an exhibition. If he’d killed me, his handlers and team would have paid a serious penalty to the crew of my ship. That’s why they threw in the towel so quickly. The Hoot was injured, slowed down by the wounds and loss of blood, and its instincts were to make a kill to preserve itself. By the way, the Hoot is going to recover fully. I checked with the Roma hospital.”

  “May I buy you another glass of wine?” a throaty voice asked although I didn’t see anyone nearby.

  I bent to look over the edge of the table and found a squat, green, creature on four stumpy legs near my feet. It appeared to be smiling as it waited for a response.

  As I was about to refuse the offer, Stone said sweetly, “Only if you will join us.”

  The dining room steward who helped the frog-creature up onto a chair at our table didn’t appear happy at the task, but readily accepted the generous tip offered by the aquatic passenger. The being was about the weight of a medium dog from the Adrian Cluster. Its green skin appeared slightly moist or slimy and faintly smelled of lemons. Several oversized eyes on the creature centered on us.

  The captain had readily accepted the offer to join us and I shut up and let the two adults do the talking. She must have had a reason. No telling what secrets would accidentally spill from my lips because I had no idea what might be important and what was not, or why she had accepted the request.

  She said with a faint lilt of her voice that hadn’t been there earlier when we were speaking confidentially and seriously, “My name is Stone, and this is my friend, Kat.”

  “I do not like cats,” it said in a sonorous voice. “There is a story I could tell you about one trying to eat me on a backward planet called Canelo, however, I turned the table and ate it. That didn’t work out well for either of us because it tasted bad and I had to pay restitution. You may call me, Fang.”

  “Do you even have teeth?” Stone asked pleasantly, to not be insulting.

  Fang laughed merrily and said, “On my home planet there is a large, flying insect that tastes sweet as Manchu floras after heavy rains, and they are called fang. The name given to me means I’m sweet, I guess. You be the judge.”

  All three of us politely laughed for different reasons, I’m sure. Stone did it to please him. Fang to put us at ease. And me to join in and pretend I hadn’t felt the tension notch up with the last few exchanges. The thing was, I didn’t know why. However, it was almost tangible, like a high-pitched sound just above the range of hearing.

  Stone accepted a glass of white wine that Fang offered. She warned me off with a hard look, and asked him as she subtly switched her wine glass to mine, which was filled mostly with water, “What do you do for a living, Fang?”

  “A little of this and some of that.”

  “I see. Someone provides you with a regular paycheck?”

  “Not a regular one, unfortunately. I’m more the sort that goes out on my own and tries to earn his fortune. Much like the captains of ships that trade between planets.”

  “How has that done for you?” Stone persisted as she ignored the comment that inferred he knew who she was. “I mean no disrespect, but you are a paying customer on a starship and tickets do not come cheap.”

  “I also gather and sell information. Others might say I do all right financially.”

  “Information, such as?”

  Another chuckle, one not quite as humorous as before. Fang said, “Such as the whereabouts of people the police are seeking, as an example. I sometimes collect rewards.”

  I was shocked, both at his revelation and that he’d so readily admitted his goal and reason for joining us. I managed to hold my tongue. Stone was leading the conversation and anything I said might ruin her plans.

  Stone said calmly, “You wouldn’t turn in a friend, or new friends like us to the police, would you?”

  “We are not friends and I should inform you that you have imbibed a strong sedative in your wine with the two sips you have taken. Within a truly brief time, you will succumb to it. I will keep you alive in my room until we arrive at the planet Franklin and there, I can collect the substantial reward that has been posted for you.”

  Stone shook her head slowly from side to side as she leaned closer to Fang and said, “You are sadly mistaken, my new friend. This is the way things will work. Kat has not touched her wine if you’ve paid attention. While innocent looking, she has concealed on her body both a needler and vibro-knife. Have you seen one of them, yet? Not the needler, the new vibro-knives. The blades vibrate or something at a high speed like a tuning fork, and when you cut with them, there is no resistance at all. Amazing devices. She is very adept at its use.”

  Fang pulled away from me in apparent shock and barely managed to remain on the seat of the chair. “Are you threatening me?”

  Stone smiled and said as if sharing a secret, ignoring the fact she had switched her wine for water, “Sedatives in the wine will not work on me. I am Aterian, not human. This seemingly innocent young woman beside me is not human either, but she is not young. Despite her appearance, she is decades old and was trained to kill with bare hands before she was ten. Her race is Balaclavas, or something pronounced like that if you have heard of it. A religious sect. Twice since you joined us, I’ve given instructions restraining her from taking your head from your fat neck and spitting down the hole where it was connected.”

  A deadly silence ensued.

  Captain Stone continued as calmly as discussing the recent weather, “The three of us are going to your cabin where we will talk in privacy. Resistance, any at all, will result in your untimely death this fine day.”

  My eyes traveled from one to the other. It seemed a civilized game of threatening each other and sharing the details of the encounter with Bert and Bill would be interesting. I’d never seen a bluff like the captain used so well. Her threats were so outlandish they had to be true—or so I’d believe if I sat in the frog’s chair.

  She turned to me. “If he hesitates, take his head from his body and dump the contents on the floor. The Dreamer has people to clean up messes made by passengers. I’ll pay for any additional maintenance charges to our account.”

  Not knowing what to say or do, I simply nodded and turned my attention to the frog, wondering what would happen if it pulled a knife or other weapon on us, since I had neither. Three eyes the size of small balls of tang-fruit on eyestalks looked back at me.

  Fang said evenly, “Perhaps I should apologize for the unfortunate encounter and go my own way.”

  “Perhaps you will die before your flippers touch the floor,” Stone said pleasantly. “I spotted you the moment you entered the room and now you can either walk with us to your cabin or die here.”

  Fang twitched, then said in his throaty voice, “I will do as you say. After all, we are friends, right?”

  He kept a single eye centered on me, never wavering. The stalk with it rotated, twisted, and turned to always keep me in his sight. We followed him to a cabin door along the same passageway as ours, almost directly across the passage from our cabins. Inside the small room were his things spread on the bed like it was a horizontal closet, along with a plastic ring-like bathtub. Knee-high walls covered the entire floor space. It was filled with pungent, stagnant water. Small, dark creatures zipped around and s
plashed as they leaped into the air and fell back with tiny eruptions of water. Probably food for Fang.

  He paused at the door, turned to us, and motioned to the water. “Join me?”

  “We will sit on the bed,” Stone told him.

  “Suit yourselves.”

  We sat on the narrow bed and waited until Fang had submersed himself and come up for air. He spat a stream playfully in our direction and said, “Are you sure you won’t join me?”

  Captain Stone’s demeanor changed from that of a tourist to a military commander, as did her voice. She snapped, “I might consider it if I didn’t think that water is going to turn red, or whatever color your blood happens to be.”

  “No need to talk like that,” he mumbled and spread his flippers again in a gesture that was conciliatory and seemed he used repeatedly.

  “A short while ago, you were trying to sedate me and hold me as your prisoner before you made a deal with the Roman police for the reward.”

  “Just business, I assure you. Nothing personal, and it was only for you, not the Kat person.” Fang spread his forward flippers again in a motion intended to soothe us. Or soothe me.

  “And it is just business that we repay your actions in kind. Hand me your tablet, unlocked, of course.” Captain Stone held out her hand.

  “I am but a poor swamp creature.”

  “The computer tablet. Give it. No more threats, Fang.”

  While they were going back and forth, I was thinking of the oddity of calling the frog “Fang” when it had no teeth, and that it sat in foul-smelling water while we conversed as if that were normal. Just as I was coming to terms with those ideas, one of the little swimmers in the water leaped into the air in front of his face. A greenish tongue lashed out and snared the swimmer in some manner, and the tongue carried it into the wide mouth.